


do as i say, obey

by wearethewitches



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blanket Permission, Broken Bones, Bruises, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Genderbending, Healers, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Indian Harry Potter, Injury Recovery, Knight Bus, One Shot, Rape Recovery, St Mungo's Hospital, also implied indian harry potter, i couldn't get the idea out of my head and seriously, i have no idea where this could go, not explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 13:46:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16996131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: Hari goes to St Mungos. The people there are good.





	do as i say, obey

The Knight Bus is hell on her ribs.

Stan, at least, seems pretty concerned about her. He stands by her, now, holding onto one of her shoulders to keep her steady. Even still, the armchair she sits on bumps harshly against her sides. If she wasn’t already a ginormous bruise, Hari Potter would have thought she’d be blue tomorrow.

 _I won’t be, though, if the healers can help me,_ she thinks when they stop outside the tall, disguised building. Stan helps her to the exit, cringing at her shudder, as the drop down jolts her dislocated shoulder. He doesn’t say anything about the bruises on her neck, when her hood falls – that might be because of her glamour, though, the one that Mundungus cast to make her look like some pretty, blonde white girl from a magazine on the other side of town.

The bruises show through the magic. For a skeevy guy, he’s been more understanding of her situation than anyone else on guard at Privet Drive.

“Do you know how to get in?” Stan asks, worried, eyebrows knitting together.

“Yeah, thank-you,” Hari says quietly, using her good arm to pull her hood of her jacket back up, somehow managing to keep it on her bad shoulder. The blonde hair looks wrong in her periphery and Hari finds it strange there aren’t inky black strands in their place. She watches the Knight Bus leave, waiting a few moments before going towards the closed shop that was really St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Muggles pass her in groups and alone. She blends in, wearing jeans and yesterday’s tank top. It had been agony taking off her jumper – enough to send her unconscious when she jostled it. Her jacket, which is usually a perfect fit, is too well-fitted to wear casually, so she has it resting on one arm and put on normally on the other.

Hari goes up to the glass window, the dummy inside the same as six months ago – down to the drooping, fake eyelash.

“Uh, accident and emergency?” she murmurs, watching the dummy nod slightly and beckon. Taking a deep breath, imagining that it’s just like Platform Nine and Three Quarters, she steps through the glass, appearing in the familiar waiting room. Like last time, there are a multitude of witches and wizards, some looking average, other’s with extra limbs and making strange noises.

Hari joins the queue at the reception, waiting her turn. After about ten minutes in line – St Mungo’s seemingly quite busy, this morning – she finally has her chance.

“I was assaulted,” Hari says, voice cracking in the middle as she says it out loud. She feels embarrassed that she can even say that word.

“…right. Magical injuries?” the welcome witch asks, frowning at her. “Any chance you’ve been cursed?”

“No, no- it was a muggle. I can’t let my guardians see me like this,” Hari whispers, fidgeting in place and wincing as her shoulder shifts again and her ribs twinge.

“If you just sit here in the waiting room, one of the medi-witches or medi-wizards will check you over. If your injuries are severe enough, you’ll be assigned to an available temporary ward and the healer will see you. Please be aware the waiting time can be several hours.”

“Thank-you,” Hari murmurs, about to turn away when the welcome witch clears her throat.

“Do I need to call the Aurors? They can slap an assault charge on whatever muggle did this to you.”

Hari pauses, before shaking her head. She hurries over to an available seat in the corner, gritting her teeth as she sits down.

Everything aches. Some of it burns.

She waits about ten minutes before a medi-witch comes over. She’s in lime-green robes with a wand and bone crossed on either of her arms – except, unlike the rest of the other medi-witches, there’s a blue circle around them.

“Name?” she asks, flicking her wand around. The noise that pervaded the waiting room disappearing suddenly, barely a whisper penetrating what must have been a privacy ward. But Hari swallows, glancing around nervously, trying not to look at the medi-witch who will probably go ape-shit when she learns that _Hari Potter_ is in front of her.

“Uh…Parvati,” she lies, coughing. “Parvati Smith.”

“Alright Miss Smith,” the medi-witch eyes her sceptically. Hari doesn’t blame her – she’s a terrible liar. “Date of birth?”

“July thirty-first, nineteen eighty,” she answers.

“And your malady today?”

“I was assaulted by a muggle,” Hari says, feeling sick. “Physically and- and-”

The medi-witch crouches down in front of her, clipboard resting on her knees. Her face is calm, eyes a light blue.

“The welcome witch asked me specifically to see you, Miss Smith. She believes you may have been sexually assaulted,” the medi-witch says, voice calm and soothing. “Is this correct?”

Hari’s lip wobbles, before she nods quickly, the tears falling down her cheeks. She reaches automatically to wipe them using her injured arm, but lets out a pained noise as her dislocation becomes apparent again. She sways, light-headed and the sound abruptly returns, the medi-witch levitating her onto a stretcher.

“We’re just going to a private ward, Miss Smith,” the medi-witch tells her, flying her on the stretcher out of the waiting room. Hari notes them going through a set of doors, before she’s levitated onto a bed in a sitting position.

“Let’s take your coat off,” the medi-witch says, reaching to carefully pull it off her shoulder. “Are you injured anywhere else?”

“My ribs, I think. Breathing hurts,” Hari admits. “I have a glamour on to protect my identity, but the bruises you see are real.”

“Thank-you for letting me know, Miss Smith,” the medi-witch says, waving her wand to shut the curtain around them. “Is it alright if I remove your shirt with a vanishing charm? St Mungo’s can provide you robes to wear home when you leave.”

“Yeah, go for it,” Hari says, sniffing as she empties her jean pockets of her wand and her muggle money, jacket the thing with her wizarding money in it. _It’s not as if I have any privacy left._ She watches the witch’s wand as she does the motions to vanish her shirt, the chill making her shudder before the medi-witch casts a warming charm.

Black bruises in the shape of hands press against her sides, which is where it hurts the most. _He held me down,_ Hari thinks, swallowing hard. The medi-witch eyes them critically before focusing on her shoulder.

“I’ll pop this back into place. Do you have any allergies?”

“No,” Hari shakes her head.

“Do you consent to any treatments and methods of healing I might advise today?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then. You can have a small dose of skelegrow potion to heal any fractures or splintering – it looks like you’ve cracked your ribs, too,” the medi-witch trails her wand along the skin lightly, nodding. “Yes, definitely. A medium dose, maybe and some bruise potion to rub on. I’ll just check your back, now…”

The medi-witch moves around the bed and Hari can tell when she pauses, probably at the sight of the old scars on her back from Uncle Vernon’s belt.

“I can prescribe some scar-removal potion, as well. The skin-to-skin application will work best, rather than taking it orally,” the medi-witch says. A piece of parchment floats over to them and Hari twists her head to watch the medi-witch write down everything she’s seen so far. “I’ll deal with your upper body first, before we move further south, if that’s alright, Miss Smith?”

“Yeah,” Hari whispers, watching as the medi-witch summons a house-elf and lists off a number of potions to bring. The house-elf disappears and then the medi-witch moves onto resetting her shoulder. A simple spell numbs her shoulder.

“This _will_ feel strange,” the medi-witch warns. “I’ve been a healer for over twenty years and it has never _not_ felt odd-”

Hari is listening to her, expecting her to keep on speaking – not for her to pull her elbow with one arm and reset her shoulder with her wand in the other. The medi-witch – the _healer_ – is right, it is strange. She feels the pop and it’s like pulling your fingers till they crack, except there’s a proper _jolt_ and even with the numbing spell, Hari knows something’s hurting.

“Okay, let’s try not to move that, now,” the witch says, bandages wrapping around it before the warming charm around her abruptly turns cold around her shoulder, seeping deep into her skin. The house-elf reappears. “Excellent timing. Skelegrow, now. Have you ever had skelegrow before?”

“Yeah,” Hari grimaces. “I had to regrow my whole arm and hand overnight.”

“Nasty,” the healer winces. “Skelegrow’s common enough, but it never gets worse when the bone has to be regrown completely. Was it a person who did it, or…”

“No- well,” Hari pauses, “sort of. A bludger shattered my arm and a stupid person tried fixing it. Madam Pomfrey had a conniption.”

“Hogwarts?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” the witch whispers, before she measures out the potions. The skelegrow tingles and makes her rib ache, but the bruise potion, applied thickly, immediately begins setting her torso, neck and face to rights.

The healer is quiet, up until they do the bruises on her face. “You know,” she says quietly, “no glamour can hide a curse scar.”

Hari freezes.

“It’s alright, Miss Smith,” the witch says, looking at her forehead. “Whoever cast it for you did a notice-me-not around your entire face. Clever. Curse scars are always visible, but if someone isn’t supposed to see a _face_ , they won’t see what’s on it. Dark remnants aren’t clever enough to get around that.”

“Does the welcome witch know, too?” Hari questions softly.

“Yes, which is why she got me to see you. You’re not the only one to wear a glamour here,” the witch replies. “Healer Tonks. You might know my daughter, Nymphadora.”

Hari jolts. “Tonks? Like- like _Tonks?_ ”

Healer Tonks smiles slightly, lip twitching. “Yes. You may call me Andy, if it’s too confused. Or just ‘healer’. Either works. I don’t look like this outside of the hospital, either.”

“Why do you wear a glamour?” Hari asks, but Andy shakes her head.

“We’re here about you. That paste will take half an hour to get rid of your bruises and Nika will head off any Order members who might have been tipped off that you came here. You’re safe, here, sweetheart.”

The young girl bites her lip, moving on the bed, trying not to react as the friction pains her.

“The potion won’t rub off if we bandage you up,” Andy says, raising her wand with a questioning tilt of her eyebrow. Hari nods quickly, then sucks in a breath as bandages wrap around her torso slowly, her bra vanishing. Blushing, Hari feels heat rise to her face before a hospital gown flutters into existence around her.

“I’d like you to lie back, now, Miss Smith,” Andy says, gentle. She takes Hari’s hand. “No-one’s going to get you. You won’t have to go back home if you don’t want to.”

“Really?” Hari questions, heartbeat racing.

“Really,” Andy murmurs. “You’re a minor who has been assaulted in the presence of blood-wards. The magic should have kept you safe, at all cost. It’s enough to keep lawyers busy for months. As your primary healer, I’m taking custody of you, considering that your magical guardian allowed this to happen.”

“You can do that?” Hari questions, shocked.

“I can,” Andy nods. “Lie back, now.”

Hari lies back. She trusts Tonks – and her mother seems like an actual adult who knows what she’s doing, who might _listen_ to Hari if she told the truth. _She’s not letting me go back to the Dursley’s,_ Hari thinks, eyes stinging in emotional pain as the healer examines her. Once she’s done, she summons the house-elf again for more potions, the names of which alert Hari to certain possibilities.

“I don’t want a kid,” she whispers, gripping Andy’s arm. “I don’t want _him_ inside of me.”

“You won’t, if you take the potions I’m offering you.” The witch says, voice clear. “As your healer, I’m advising you to take the following: two different anti-infectious disease potion, an anti-conception potion and two healing potions – one to be taken orally, for your general pain and well-being and one to be applied internally.”

“Down…”

“Yes, down there,” Andy nods. “It’s no different to muggle medication for things like this. Just works faster. Is that alright?”

“Y-yeah,” Hari nods, curling up on the bed, still clutching Andy’s hand. She only lets go when Andy has to write it all down and organise the potions. Andy doesn’t leave the room once and no-one comes in, except the house-elf.

“Miss Smith?” Andy starts, “For the record, do you wish to name your attacker?”

Hari goes white. She grips the bedsheets underneath her, muscles tensing under the billowing hospital gown. _I could tell,_ she thinks. _This is a hospital. This isn’t a kid trying to tell a professor something they can hardly believe. This isn’t a kid asking to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays without giving a proper reason. This is a hospital._

Andy watches her come to a decision.

* * *

The Tonks household is nice. They live on the outskirts of a village, with a big garden and a lake in the distance that Hari can see from her bedroom window. Some summer afternoons, she takes her Firebolt out and trains, looping through the sky and doing dozens of wronski feints that have Ted congratulating her over dinner for. It feels like a dream to her.

Except there’s always a line of potions at every meal – nutrition potions, appetite potions and healing potions meant to correct the damage done to her during childhood from a poor diet and neglect. Andy makes sure she has them all and if she’s working, it’s Ted, instead, who is semi-retired from his job as weatherman on the BBC and is at home most days.

Hari was unduly surprised to recognise him, when they first met, but not she realises his enthusiasm for everything is a facet of his personality that includes making sure she’s on her medication. However, while he may be a good man and strict, Ted also makes an effort not to ever touch her, either…the first and last time he did, trying to shake her hand, it hadn’t been pretty.

“It’ll take months, but you’ll be better for it in the end,” Andy tells her. “You’ve bounced back pretty well on your own with Hogwarts food and quidditch training.”

“Oliver was a demon,” Hari replies, wincing, remembering four am starts and naps at quarter to six for fifteen minutes exactly because the team held a protest.

Andy looks amused at her words. “You’ve got good muscle tone for someone as skinny as you are. You’ll have to up your personal training routine, though I have rules you have to follow about your weight gain.”

“If you’ve got custody of me, does that mean you can’t be my healer?” Hari quickly asks, not eager to follow rules about her body.

Andy rolls her eyes, tucking Hari into her side and weeks later, it is still so strange to let her do so. Without her glamour on, Andy looks like a lush, healthy and more beautiful version of her sister – Bellatrix Lestrange. Even the slight differences aren’t enough to convince a lot of people she isn’t her, which is why she wears a glamour now, in the days where Bellatrix’s face is printed on Wanted posters all throughout Diagon Alley and _The Daily Prophet._

Hari curls into Andi’s side like a cat, eyes closing briefly as Andi presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Cheeky little witch. Can’t keep your mouth shut.”

“Nope,” Hari replies cheerily, grinning.


End file.
